


Nothing

by autopilots77



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 04:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21247205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autopilots77/pseuds/autopilots77
Summary: Daryl gets drunk and calls Rick. In the aftermath, secrets and emotions are revealed.





	Nothing

Daryl wakes up and checks the clock.

1:17am.

He staggers to the bathroom, clutching the doorframe to keep him steady. He’s still drunk off the beer he found after his dad cleared out, but he couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried.

He’s in the middle of staring bemusedly at his completely fucked reflection - black eye, bloody lip, bruised cheeks, fuck fuck fuck - in the cracked mirror when urgent knocks resound through the tiny trailer.

He doesn’t remember opening the door, hell if he doesn’t remember leaving the bathroom, but suddenly he is furrowing his brow at Rick, who’s staring at him, perfect mouth dropping open comically. Some tiny part of his brain thinks it’s concern -

_Not concern, you’re not worth anyone’s fucking worry you fucking useless sack of sh-_

“Jesus,” Rick breathes, before he shoulders his way through the threshold.

Daryl wants to grip his shoulder and push him back out. Wants to tell him to go back to his warm bed and his complicated parents who nonetheless love him unconditionally and don’t beat him halfway to death for no reason at all, but dammit is he tired (and he might be dreaming anyway), so he lets Rick cross the line into the world he fights tooth and nail to keep from him.

“The hell are you doing here?” He slurs, closing the door and following Rick into his father’s excuse for a living room (a threadbare couch and a stolen television). Rick perches delicately on the couch, and Daryl hovers nearby, consciously making an effort to keep his body still. His blood thrums angrily through his veins, and his muscles scream in annoyance, but he resists the urge to give in to his nervous tics. He manages to keep himself from biting his fingers, but he has to pace restless back and forth to do it.

  
_Fucking pathetic._

  
“You called me.” Rick states plainly, his ice blue eyes digging into Daryl’s.

  
Daryl ceases his nervous pacing.

  
“No, I didn’t.”

  
“Yes, you did.”

  
Fuck, Daryl hates the way Rick is looking at him. His face is completely neutral, body unnaturally still, but his eyes betray him. Daryl forces himself to focus on something else. The deer heads on the wall. There. Talk to them instead. Remember hunting, remember the forest and the quiet.

  
“Man, whatever, just ‘cause I called you don’t mean you gotta show up here in the middle of the night. The hell are you thinking?” Daryl can’t keep himself from jumping to the defensive. He brings his thumb to his teeth unconsciously.

  
There’s a moment of horrible silence. Daryl takes it as a cue to resume his restless movements, darting nervously back and forth in front of the shit excuse for a couch. He tries valiantly to remember the deer he tracked for hours last week in the quiet of the forest, and waits for Rick’s answer, chewing without abandon on his thumb nail.

  
“You said you couldn’t do it anymore,” Rick says quietly.

  
Daryl freezes.

  
_Fuck._

Rick shifts on the couch in response to Daryl’s behavior, perching on the edge of the tatty cushion.

  
_There’s beer stains, Merle probably shot up there, Rick shouldn’t have to sit there –_

  
“Daryl – “ Rick pauses, and Daryl shivers involuntarily, releasing his thumb from his mouth and trying to relax the tension in his shoulders. He thinks about Merle leaving him for the army, the way he so similarly said “Daryl,” almost brokenly. Merle couldn’t look at him them, only shaking his head before closing the door and pulling out of their excuse for a driveway. Daryl’s arms hang listlessly at his sides, and he can’t bring himself to meet Rick’s gaze, because Rick is going to do the same, _he's going to shake his head and walk out the door because you’re just too much to deal with you fucking idiot and -_

  
“Daryl,” Rick starts again, firmly, rising from the couch and standing toe to toe with Daryl, “this stops now. You have to tell me what’s going on.”  
Daryl watches Rick’s feet.

  
“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he says to Rick’s sneakers, weakly, wondering idly why Rick hasn’t left yet.

  
Rick sighs and takes a half step closer.

  
Daryl swallows, retreating in response to Rick’s movements. Why won’t he get this over with? Daryl can hear his breathing, so fucking loud, and his heart thunders in his ears.

  
“Daryl, please,” Rick says, raising his hands, palms out, in a non-threatening manner. “I’ve seen the bruises, I know what’s –“

  
Daryl explodes before he realizes what he’s done. He doesn’t feel the impact of his palms shoving at Rick’s chest, but suddenly Rick is on his ass, hands behind him to brace his fall, staring up at Daryl with surprise on his face and a mix of pity and –

  
“You don’t know shit!” Daryl rages, panting in anger. He feels his muscles tense without his consent, and his face contorts with an anger he knows Rick doesn’t deserve. “The fuck do you know, pretty boy? Huh?”

  
“Daryl,” Rick breathes, before Daryl cuts him off.

  
“No! Fuck you for thinking you can fix a goddamn thing!” Daryl spits, dropping to his knees and grabbing Rick’s shirt in his fists, pulling him close and snarling so Rick doesn’t think anything might be wrong, doesn’t think that he can’t take care of himself. “You and your shitty hero complex where you gotta take charge and be responsible for people who don’t mean a fucking thing! You think I’m worth your time?”

  
Rick inhales sharply, perfect blue eyes widening even further, and Daryl is vaguely aware that he’s about to say a ton of shit he knows he shouldn’t, but the alcohol flowing through his veins screams at him to _just fucking do it why don’t you do –_

  
“I’m just some dumbass redneck who ain’t never gonna be anything! Merle done fucked off to who knows where, Ma didn’t care enough ‘bout us to not f-fucking light the shit house on fire, and fucking Dad only – Dad,“ Daryl inhales, wheezes, and suddenly he can’t breathe, and his fingers tremble where they grip Rick’s shirt, wrinkling the nice button-down his parents probably gave him. “Fucking a-asshole Dad o-only g-gave a sh-“ Daryl forces himself to take a breath, sucking in air violently, “only gave a shit ‘bout h-himself, not ‘bout Merle and sure as fuck not ‘bout me, his worthless faggot son –“

  
And then Daryl loses his mind about a half a second before Rick wraps him tightly in his arms, whispering in his ear, and Daryl can only halfway hear him over his sobs and the _fucking screaming in his head –_

  
“Shhh, baby, I got you,” Rick murmurs, letting Daryl’s head fall onto his shoulder so tears soak into his shirt, “it’s okay now, it’s all gonna be okay, alright? I got you,” and he keeps whispering promises in Daryl’s ear while he cries like a fucking baby, shaking uncontrollably.

  
Daryl’s fingers clench tightly in Rick’s shirt and he completely falls to pieces, barely aware of the fact that he’s sobbing more violently than he ever has in his life. But Rick doesn’t push him away. Instead, he just keeps making those quiet shushing noises, rubbing his fingers in soothing circles where his hands rest on Daryl’s shoulder and waist, letting Daryl collapse, boneless, between his legs on the floor.

  
“Rick, I can’t – “ he starts, but he can’t say anymore, and he can only hope Rick gets it, that Rick understands what he means without words, as he always does.

  
“I know,” Rick whispers thickly. Dimly, Daryl is aware that he must be crying too, but why would he cry over something as pathetic as Daryl, something so useless and meaningless and_ all you are is a fucking burden and you’d be better off dead you worthless piece of_ – “I know Daryl, baby, it’s ok it’s all gonna be ok now.”

  
And they stay like that for a while, until Rick convinces him to get in his truck so they don’t encounter his drunk father, and they drive out to the middle of nowhere Georgia. Daryl doesn’t say a word on the drive, too tired, too sad, too ashamed, and they sleep on a mattress in the bed of Rick’s truck, curled up in one another under the stars that didn’t mean shit, because Daryl knows that the next day they’ll have to go back and do it all over again, and that he is still absolutely nothing, and eventually Rick will get tired of it, just like his mother, and just like Merle.

  
But for now, he watches the stars glimmer, holds Rick tightly, and knows that no matter what happens next, he will hold onto this memory forever.


End file.
